


In His Throne, The King Smiles In Bliss

by solarpillar (solarwind)



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarwind/pseuds/solarpillar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King is, after all, still Kazuya. And Kazuya’s life he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Throne, The King Smiles In Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for sensenaoya at tumblr. This is the chaos side’s story.

“You’d think,” he said, “that the King of Demons would remember angels as something terrible, not cute.”

You don’t. Well, you do, but in the sense that a dangerous animal can still be cute in its own way. Angels are without free will, anyway, if Naoya was not wrong about it, and that would make them almost blameless. How can you be good or evil when you cannot even make choices? Might as well as call black holes evil.

Actually, Discovery channel did exactly that, didn’t they?

But angels. The angelic look fits him, that you have to insist, and it’s not because you think Naoya is terrible. Naoya, despite what he had done to you, is not a dangerous murderous living puppet. That was a mistake. He was young. And you were annoying.

Yes, the angel look fits him.

Technically this is a demon form, but the difference is merely academical. You put a lot of time into that cloak, so it will stay. You are the demon overlord. He, therefore, must be your angelic presence.

You think he might want to murder you once again, but you trust him to control himself. 

Beside, he looks amazing.

When you were ten, he read you a story about Loki. He borrowed this cloak made of falcon feathers, and it was a magical cloak, one that turned whoever wearing it into a falcon, and enabled flight. Now, Loki could totally turn into a falcon himself without the cloak, but he borrowed it anyway. To change shape into something they were not was, after all, a self-alienating experience, and having your shape changed rather than change yourself was always more sanity-preserving. But, in this case, it was all pointless, because he didn’t stay in the shape for long anyway as he was caught, for his eyes were way too shiny for that of mere mortal falcon, and they betrayed his godhood. And the rest was a disaster. 

What you did get from the story was that transformation is easier if it’s by a magical item. Probably why magical girls always used some magical stick for it, phallic symbol aside, and it could be a security blanket. 

And this is what you crafted yourself for your cousin, because it is that interesting of a power, and because he needs to stop convincing himself that he’s a fixed point. What is he, god? He’s on chaos side and should act like it, and the first would be to embrace change, hopefully on his own terms. And this is the supporting chair to his ice skater.

He spreads the cloak, and it opens like many wings. “Why a cloak?” he asks, “Because I am the evil wizard?”

You shake your head, hopefully in a pretty and inspiring way. “No, you are the warlock mentor. Merlin.”

“I sure hope you are not going to be Arthur.”

You kick the sword, but the throne doesn’t have any open space for the sword to go in. It’s not like you are trying to wield Caliburn or anything, it was more of a Joyeuse. It changed colours. “If you want,” you try, worried that he might take it as an insult, “you can be my Ishtar. Cloak and lances, n-”

“I am not going to stand in your court naked under the cloak, thank you very much.”

When he arrives later for the court, you know that, deep inside, he loves your attention. Not only did he put on the cloak, but he looks pristine and ethereal, more angelic than the actual angels. And this terrifies the demons you are presiding over. He radiates power and command, showing himself indeed none other than your brother, and you believe for a solid minute that he should be sitting in your throne and you standing beside him, but then you remember exactly how much he hates the position of power and the risk of its temptation, of the corruption it may bring, of the distrust he always had in his own control of self, and you let him stand there, by your side, bright as an omen, comforting as a guarding lance.

You remember something like this from the past.

Not that far past, but the childhood of Kazuya. You made a mistake, as many children did, and your parents were not happy. Your fate of Hevel seem to have carried over even to your existence as Kazuya, as your parents never seemed to pay much attention to you, and cared you less as a person. They poured their sympathy and pity on Naoya, however, always trying to know if he is well, if he has eaten, if he rests enough, if he will have a decent future, etc. You, on the other hand, might as well as been vapour in the air. They were polite to you, kind to you, cared and provided for you, but they never gave you too much attention, confident that you would do fine by yourself.

And like many children that were not given enough attention, you tried to attract some with a prank.

You pondered what kind of prank you should pull. Not one of these cruel ones, as they could get dangerous. So you decided to try the oldest trick in the book, picking a light plastic one because you didn’t think anyone with like a piece of metal fall on their head, filled it with clean tap water, put it atop the fridge door and waited. Your parents were away shopping, and you knew when they are back the first thing would be putting the grocery in the fridge. 

Eventually your parents returned home. What you did not expect was Naoya would be with them, carrying the groceries for them. And he, not them, was the one to use the fridge. 

The bucket fell exactly on his head. 

You stood there, dumb as a statue, by the hallway between the kitchen and the bedrooms. Your parents were equally dumbstruck, thoug hyour mom gaped rather audibly and had her hand over her mouth. Your stomach sank, even more as you heard from Naoya not anger but a single resigned chuckle. “Heh.” And that was it. He removed the pail, slowly as the hit probably gave him a light concussion, and put it in the sink. And he went to get the mop, all calm. And a towel. And, towel in the hair, he mopped the puddle up, without a single complain.

Your parents went ballistic over you.

You understood that you did wrong. Naoya was so tragic, he lost his parents in such young age, and not to mention his melancholic inclination, and though nobody mentioned it his albinism must be something bad, even if you always thought he looked good. And you played such prank on him, of all people. And what were you thinking, water near electronics? Somebody could have been electrocuted. 

You must have cried, because you remember you stopped when Naoya stood by your side, towel still in his hair, the mop already back to its cupboard. 

“He didn’t mean it.”

You looked at him, incredulous. You thought he would be mad at you. You thought he might even murder you. He had always been ruthless to his enemies, or so you heard, and you feared him even though you somehow still wanted to be near him, to have his affection, and you were certain that you would lose all of his affection with this stupid prank. 

He stood there, bright and ethereal in your eyes, and back when you thought angels were kind and fluffy he looked just like one.

“He must have felt neglected. I know that feel.” He turned to you. “Tell me, Kazuya, do you want to play water balloon? We still have some left from last summer, and it’s a nice sunny day today, the parking lot downstairs should do.”

Then you learned two things. One was that he had a devilishly precise aim, which you were reminded of again when you saw him throw COMPs in the lockdown. Two was that he was even more frail than your parents believed, and he collapsed in forty degrees fever the very same night. Unlike his usual careless self he went into the other direction and binged on all flu meds he could get his hands on and your parents almost rushed him to the emergency in fear of overdose, and it was a miracle that he somehow was cured without visible repercussion the next day, though now you suspect he used magic. 

Then you caught the flu from him and was sick for an entire week, and despite the migraine and various flu pains you felt happy and closer to your brother than ever. 

And now, as his best pawn, you cannot imagine being closer. You are an extension of him, and he of you. You are cursed as he is and it does not hurt at all. In joy and in sorrow, in bliss and in pain, you will stay together.

There will be plenty of room for friendly pranks, too.


End file.
